You can’t even make time
to kick a football with your own son,
my wife says one night,
when my boy is already asleep.
I drop him at Before School Care
each morning & tell him
to have a good day. Work’s busy
at the moment, I say.
I want to tell him that I love him,
but I don’t. I manage change in others,
but not myself. I just work.
I work smarter, harder, longer.
The wall behind me spins
& my no-crease business shirt clings
to it. My laptop & mobile phone
stick as well. The floor drops away,
yet I don’t fall. I’m safe up here.
Sex is merely a memory
I’m too tired to have.
This is my life, I might think,
if there was time to think.
But there are calls to make,
meetings to arrange, work
to do. My stomach churns.
I’m stranded. So I do what men
do—I get on with the work.
Riding the Rotor with No End in Sight
1 November 2015